Hide yourself from the same old memories

[sovay]

This is not one of my stories.

My father once drove past a graveyard, late at night. Behind the rail, there was someone bowed before one of the headstones, as in prayer or contemplation, dressed in a dark coat, their hands clasped before them. But the size confused him, even seen through the edge of the headlights—smaller than a person, smaller even than a child, not even as tall as the headstone. My father stopped, backed up the car, checked again. Crouched there before the stone was a raccoon.

Whether it was always a raccoon is a matter of opinion.

Comments

[nineweaving.livejournal.com]

Only your family sees davening raccoons.

Nine

[clarionj.livejournal.com]

davening -- I'd never heard that word. It can be useful. And now, happily, I'll always think of it in relation to a racoon with paws clasped.

Thanks, Sonya, too, for the little tale--I love how you throw in that last line, just as I was ready to give up and think, ah, only a racoon.